The Lost Tavern
by Clarenova
Summary: Clyra doesn't seem to fit into Salamandastron, so runs away to find the Lost Tavern, though she has no idea where it is, or what it will bring. She meets new friends from Redwall, and ends up fighting a battle with herself to decide her own future. R/R!


::The Lost Tavern, Chapter One, Version 1.2:: 

Disclaimer: Usual stuff, all that isn't mine, isn't mind, all that is, is. 

A/N: Finally, an update... Expect more in the coming days/weeks/months/years/decades. 

* 

|*~ Prologue ~*| 

The Lost Tavern 

Lost souls roam, 

away from life in reality. 

Where they go, 

nobeast knows. 

But the one place. 

The Lost Tavern. 

Here where none but few, 

come and ever leave again. 

Where peace comes easy, 

in misty dreams. 

The Lost Tavern, 

of lost realms.   
  
  
  


Clyra was a Salamandastron hare. And she hated it. Everywhere rules and ranks. Confined by the rules and regulations of the Long Patrol. Never allowed out, never allowed to do this never allowed being able to do that. Follow this rule, follow that rule. Listen to this, don't listen to that. Don't go out of the mountain, serve that badger lord, patrol with the Colonel. 

But that did not impress Clyra. 

Make no mistake, Clyra was a good, young soul, polite and kind, willing to work and had a fighter's spirit. But that spirit inside of her was also a restless spirit, which longed to be free. Away from ranks and rules, where she was her own leader, where adventures came and went and so did she. What made it worse was that she was skilled and experienced, young as she was, with the staff and the sabre, her talents outshining all the others in her patrol. 

But she could not flee from the patrol as yet. Clyra was smart; she knew she lacked total experience. She would not survive a day out in the wild. She knew she had to train, and train hard. Learn to be perilous and self-serving, not to rely on anybeast but herself and what the earth produced for her. She had to learn to adapt, to be resourceful and quick thinking in times of peril. But she could not fully push her skills to the test. At least not with the others in her drilling team. Her skill was too advanced. So in fear of hurting her fellow comrades, she had to sneak out. Which was strictly against the rules. 

The afternoon was hot. Very, very hot. All drillings had finished for the day, and all senior officers were somewhere else with Lady Vivre. 

The timing was perfect. 

Clyra would put her plan into action. She had planned this long ago, with much care. When she was out on a patrol, she had found a small, short dead tree. She had left her wooden staff there. It was barely as tall as Clyra herself, but it was sturdy, with quite a few thick branches. A perfect target for target practice, whether it be staff or sling. It wasn't too far away, but not too close to Salamandastron either. From there, she could wander into the fringes of Mossflower, bit by bit, visit by visit, she would eventually find somebeast she could practice with. But meanwhile, all she had to do was get out of the mountain. And she did. 

Swimming in the blissful feeling of freedom, the young hare ran with youthful lightness and with great ease. The sand felt coarse yet warm and comforting under her footpaws, and she relished the feeling of the wind flowing through her fur, her heart open and singing a joyful song, her spirit soaring. 

She arrived at the tree, and took a short breather. Then, unsheathing her sabre and putting it aside, she took up her sturdy wooden staff; which was leaning against the short and long dead tree. 

The "tree" was very small, about the height of Clyra herself. Taking up her staff, she started hitting the different branches of the tree, using it as a target. Striking heavy blows to the main trunk, Clyra gave the staff an expert twirl and struck a hard, slashing downward diagonal stroke against one of the lesser branches, which snapped off and fell to the ground. Clyra continued the process until she had stricken every branch off the short tree, which was now a trunk with thick stubs where the branches once were. 

Breathing heavily but with a grin on her face, Clyra twirled her staff, then set it down. Sitting down for a while, she took a refreshing drink from a canteen of water she had brought along with her. Standing up, she unsheathed her sabre and started practising her strokes by slashing and stabbing at the air as if it were an enemy. Clyra shut her eyes and let her paw manoeuvre the blade though the air, making the keen edge whistle through the air as she moved her body along with the timing of her strokes. Feeling confident as she shut her eyes and whirled the sabre round, she suddenly felt it make contact with another blade. Keeping her eyes shut, she thought nothing of it; she imagined it as another drill practice. Except the holder of the opposing blade had more skill than any other she had parried with. Still, Clyra brought her standard up, pushing her skills to the limit, as the countered, blocked and parried with her opponent, eyes still shut fast. Finally with a quick flick of her paw, she disarmed the opponent. 

Inside of herself, she thought, "Good, but not good enough. I still disarmed him.' 

Then she opened her eyes. 

Suddenly, the reality of the situation struck her. Numb with shock, Clyra let the blade slip out of her nerveless paw and heard it thud onto the sand. Her eyes flew open and what she saw caused her stomach to flip over. Twice. 

In front of her was a disarmed and shocked Colonel Sanrow, behind him Major Relain, and towering over them both was Lady Vivre of Salamandastron. 

Clyra swallowed hard. Her heart turned numb as she dropped everything and forced her nerveless body to come to attention. Her face was as white as a sheet as her heart raced. She didn't dare to think of what was going to happen to her. Thinking about it alone was nauseous enough. 

Lady Vivre was usually a kind and fair badger lady, but right now, she had to work to keep her voice at a steady and calm pace. 

Her heart ached to see one so young away from the mountain stronghold with no apparent reason. She did not want this reckless young creature to get hurt in any sort of wild adventure she was not prepared for, and in her heart, it pained her so that she was going to have to punish Clyra. 

Her eyes dripped concern but she still questioned Clyra with a touch of anger in her voice. 

'What on Mossflower are you doing away from Salamandastron? Do you not know you are disobeying a major rule? What were you thinking?' 

Clyra could not answer. Her eyes filled up with unshed tears that threatened to spill over. She bit her lip hard. How could she voice what she really wanted to say? Nobeast would understand. 

Lady Vivre sighed. 

'I really wish you had not done this... As sorry for you as I might feel, I am afraid I still must punish you.' 

Inside of herself, Clyra was so upset and she felt so trapped, that all she cared about was whether she would be able to leave Salamandastron, nothing else. So what if she was going to get punished? It would make no difference in the long run. 

'I am going to have to take away your sabre for the time being, until you go on your first real patrol, which will be in about two weeks.' 

This snapped Clyra out of her shell. Her sabre? Not her sabre! That was her one most prized possession, and she loved it more than anything. Except maybe freedom. 

But she knew she had to do what the badger lady asked of her. Slowly and reluctantly, she dropped to her knees and took up both sheath and sabre from the sand. Rising, she dusted off both items and sheathed the sabre. Without a word, she gave the sabre to the still stunned Colonel Sanrow, who accepted it rather numbly. Lady Vivre felt that all the young hare wanted to do was get back to Salamandastron and be in peace, so she spoke up. 

'Now that that's done with, Clyra, bring your staff and that canteen, we'll get going back to Salamandastron. Colonel, keep that sabre with you until Clyra's patrol.' 

Wordlessly, the four creatures marched back to Salamandastron. Clyra kept her head bowed, but in her eyes glittered rebellion and spite for her officers and elders. They didn't know anything. Why couldn't she just be let free? She forced the thoughts down. She knew that they were doing it out of concern. Clyra knew that did not know what was inside of her, and she knew that they never would. Therefore the never could let her be. Not out of their own will. 

**** 

It was late into the night. The stars glittered around a crescent moon of which folds of white light glowed from. The white moon and starlight echoed off the waves and the pale sand, cutting the sky in its sickle form. 

On a small moss strewn ledge was a small figure. 

It was Clyra. 

She had her legs drawn up to her chin, and silent tears that reflected off into the night shone off her cheeks. She looked around, feeling lost, alone and unwanted. This wasn't where she belonged. She felt the blood of adventure course through her veins, and her heart ached with longing to leave everything behind. All her worries and fears, all of that made life seem like nothing was worth it. Suddenly, she felt the yearning to say something. Words flew from her mouth, though she never said a word. It all seemed to be coming from nowhere, as if some otherbeast was saying something through her. 

_The Lost Tavern___

_Lost souls roam,___

_away from life in reality.___

_Where they go,___

_nobeast knows.___

_But the one place.___

_The Lost Tavern.___

_Here where none but few,___

_come and ever leave again.___

_Where peace comes easy,___

_in misty dreams.___

_The Lost Tavern,___

_of lost realms._

Shocked, she covered her mouth with a shaking paw. However, in her head thoughts flew thick and fast. The Lost Tavern? But it couldn't be! It was just a myth! Something to pass down from mother to daughter to explain deaths But then again... It was worth a try... 

*** 

Clyra had been planning for over a season. Planning, slowing, carefully, taking in everything worth learning and practising all that she could practice. She learned all she could and she hoped that would serve her well. And now the time had come. 

She had her sabre strapped to her back; she had got it back long ago. In her right paw was her wooden staff, and on her back was a small haversack of provisions. 

Stepping out on what was supposedly a individual patrol, Clyra took one last look behind her, then ran. But as she ran, tears coursed down her face as her paws flew over the sun warmed sand. But what was worse was that, she didn't even know why. 

*** 

_Extract from the recordings of Sister Neralla, recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower country___

_Ah, the joys of a crisp spring morning. The songbirds fill the air with their sweet chirping to the happy sounds of a bustling abbey coming to life.___

_Abbot Arielian has declared it the Spring of Friendship's Impression. Rather long, but a perfect name all the same. Everybeast in the abbey, from the dibbuns to the elders, is excited to the tips of their whiskers in anticipation for the Nameday feast, which is two days from now.___

_Friar Belella is working non-stop, producing everything from trifle to pasty, flan to pie. The kitchens are so busy that Mother Badger Willa says she has never seen so much food produced from one kitchen before in all her long seasons here.___

_Alas! Look at the time! The bells ring in my ears. It's time for breakfast, and I mustn't be late. Do drop by if you are in the vicinity, you are always welcomed.___

_Sister Neralla, recorder of Redwall Abbey in Mossflower country._

Putting her quill down, Neralla stood up from her desk and went to scrub her ink stained paws. She was a middle-aged squirrel, with a fine bushy tail and a sweet demeanour. Her clean light green linen habit, which was the normal attire of the abbey dwellers, was neat and clean cut. She walked briskly down to Cavern Hole, where most of the abbey sat. Moving over to the side of Abbot Arielian, nodding at him. 

'Fine morning, isn't it, Father Abbot?' 

'Yes indeed. How does it go with your recordings?' 

'Very well, thank you. Ah, I see that we have guests?' 

'Yes indeed. Meet Rombar the Traveller.' 

The abbot waved a paw at a old squirrel, who looked ragged yet had an aurora of intelligence and an a mischievous and lively glint in his eye. A well used travellers staff leaned off the wall, and it seemed like this squirrel got along quite independently. Besides of that, he fascinated the dibbuns, and they clambered about, trying to get as close to the elderly one as possible, and giving Mother Willa a great headache, especially a young and lithe little mouse called Foren, who had managed to clamber all the way onto the travellers lap without being pulled back. 

By then, nearly everybeast had finished eating, and the dibbuns immediately requested for one of their favourite things, a story. 

Holding up his paw for silence, the ancient squirrel spoke. 

'Now little ones listen to me. I am going to tell you a tale of a place that some can only dream of. It was called...' 

'What wassit called, Mista Rombar? What was the place called?' 

'It was called... The Lost Tavern.' 

'The Lost Tavern is or was a magical place. I have only been there once in my life time, and that was too long ago for me to care to try and remember. If I recall properly, it was deep in the forests of Mossflower, right in the centre, away from the paths and streams and places where many creatures wandered. There, the trees grew so large, that even though there were great spaces in between one tree and the other, very little light managed to filter through the dense growth of the canopy. In there, everywhere was silent, and ground fog made the area seem so. Mysterious. 

The tavern was not much. Something like a regular log cabin, it was sturdily built and well maintained. Now, once I entered the tavern though, magical things started to happen. Everything that made life seem unkind and unfair, every sad and unpleasant memory, slowly started to leave my mind. My mind and heart felt so free, free from the rest of the world. 

There was where I learnt many of my skills. There were, surprisingly, many creatures in there. Each had a special skill of some sort, like tracking or fighting. They taught me things I never thought I'd manage to learn, skills that made everyday chores quicker and easier, as well as things that have got me out of many a sticky situation. Ah, those were the days.' 

A silence fell like a entrapping mantle over the hall. Everybeast in hearing tried to imagine the tavern, tucked away in some corner of Mossflower, so faraway, none dared to try thinking about it. Each had their own views, trapped in their own worlds and imaginations. 

Then one of the dibbuns piped up, 

'Then why didja leave, Mista Rombar?' 

'Why? Because I finally saw, after staying at the tavern for over two seasons, that it took from me one of the more important things in my life. My family, my friends. It took me away from civilization itself, and bound me to the confines of itself. But that was also a good thing. It made me realize what was important and good in my life, what made life worth living, why you felt loved, or why you had friends. Why? Because they care, because they will always be there for you, when you feel sad or unwanted, they will be there to cheer you up again. 

So my little friends, you must realize how fortunate you really are, to have family, or to have close and caring friends, abbey elders who care about you and take care of you. Remember, little ones, remember.' 

Stretching and rising, the old squirrel rose and walked towards the Abbot, who spoke. 

'Very well told, Rombar, very well told. Ah! It has been a long time since you last visit here, hasn't it?' 

'Yes, very long indeed! You were only a kitchen helper then. Well look at you now! Father Abbot of Redwall!' 

'Hah! Look at yourself! Haven't changed a bit! What's your secret?' 

'Lots of travelling and being myself.' 

'So it is. How long will you be staying with us?' 

'I will be leaving at dawn. A soft comfortable bed and a bag full of vittles is all I'll need.' 

'Very well, but first, why not go down to the orchard? A fine spring morning is not to be wasted.' 

*** 

Clyra sat down on a fallen log. Breathing lightly after a full day march, and took a swig of cordial and a bite to eat. But she found swallowing hard, almost unbearable even. In the end she had to forcefully choke the food down. Tears brimmed in her eyes for no reason, and soon, they spilled over and trickled down her face. Why? When she was doing what she wanted the most, yet her heart stilled ached so much. Why? 

She mustn't cry. It was all behind her. But was it? All her misery was there. Or was it? Suddenly her thoughts turned to Frean. He was her best friend, and the only thing that made Salamandastron bearable for the past season. It pained her to leave him, but she knew she would only cause more trouble than she was worth if she stayed at the fire mountain. 

Suddenly, there was a rustling noise that came from a quivering rose thorn bush. 

Clyra took up an immediate defensive stance. Ears totally flat, paws padding softly onto the moss strewn forest floor. Silently creeping forward to the rose thorn bush, which was dark green and the size of a small hedge, she unsheathed her sabre noiselessly, and gave the bush a prod with her wooden staff. 

The rose bush stopped quivering for a moment, and then somebeast sprang out. Clyra did what she had been taught at Salamandastron. Seeing that the creature was not facing her, she dropped her staff, took up her sabre, and gave a low kick, making her paws contact with the ambusher's knees, sending him buckling and dropping to the ground. Before he could fall, she had already got her paw across his neck, with her sabre at a horizontal position, and she stared down at the attacker. 

'Oh my goodness! Frean! What the-- What on earth are you doi-' 

Clyra suddenly went pale. She was staring down at Frean's neck, where, on a silver necklace, was a glinting half of a ruby, which reflected off the noontide sun. She screamed down at her shocked friend, jumping off him as if burned and backing away. 

'Go! Don't follow me! Why are you even here?' 

Frean looked puzzled at her outburst, sitting up and talking, slightly oblivious to her obvious rejection to his appearance. 

'Clyra! Oh! I thought I'd never find you! I knew you were going to do something crazy! Come back!' 

'What I'm doing is for my own good, as well as for those on Salamandastron, Frean. The longer I stay there, the more I will wreak havoc! I'm not made to work in such a seamless place! All I do is feel out of place, and I just don't work well! The more I will stir up unpleasant feelings and whatnot! Don't you see? Now go! I've made that decision, and nothings going to change it! I may have hurt many, but I know that some will be only too glad to see me go! Now go! Before I do something I may regret!' 

'You already are doing something you will come regret Clyra! But now, you have a chance to change that! Come back!' 

But Frean found that he was talking to thin air. Clyra had fled into the deeper forested area of Mossflower, and was gone. 

*** 

'NO!' 

Lady Vivre sat bolt upright on her large bed in the forge room of Salamandastron. She was holding her spear, of which she had fashioned herself, and swung it angrily sideways, very nearly decapitating Colonel Sanrow, who had rushed over to see what was wrong. When he saw the massive spear heading in his direction, his lightning reflexes alone saved him. Dropping flat onto the ground, he yelled, 

'I say marm! Stop! Cease and desist!' 

As if coming out of a daze, the badger lady looked at the spear in her paw. Absent-mindedly, she put it down and looked amusedly at her colonel, who was still flat on the floor. 

'Sanrow? What on earth are you doing on the forge floor?' 

'Trying to duck from your bally spear marm! That flippin thing very near took me head off!' 

'Oh? I'm sorry. Did I really swing it in your direction?' 

'Yes!' 

'Oh dear! I thought nobeast was here.' 

'Never mind me marm. What happened?' 

'It was a dream colonel. I saw young Clyra. She was being followed by Frean, somewhere in Mossflower woods, not too far in, but still.' 

'Marm.' 

'What is it Sanrow?' 

'I also came in here to tell you marm. Clyra and Frean are both missing.' 

*** 

'Oh, seasons of famine! Not again!' 

Little Retinal the mouse had done it again. 

'What did I tell you about taking parchments from the abbot's desk? You should have asked first!' 

'But mother, I did!' 

'Still, that is no reason to take 10 pieces! What on earth are you going to do with them?' 

'I was going to use the first 3 pages for my story, the next 2 for some poetry, and the remaining 5 for notes for my lessons with sister Gremina!' 

Fernia sighed. Her son was a little workaholic. He already had a desk piled up high with parchments and scrolls, all further studies for his work. He wrote astonishing poetry and stories, all very good pieces of work, but this was getting out of hand! She knelt down gently and talked to her son in the most soothing tone. 

'Tell you what. If I let you go out into Mossflower for a day every week to do research, will you limit the amount of parchment you use to 5 a week?' 

This made young Retinal light up. 

'Sure!' 

'All right, I'll get Skipper to bring you out today, all right?' 

Retinal had already started to prepare. Little boxes to collect interesting plant samples, and a small piece of cut glass from one of the abbot's old spectacles to inspect the different plant life closely. 

Soon, his little mind wandered to the Lost Tavern. He wondered, wouldn't it be wonderful there? With no one telling you how long you could stay up studying your work, or how much parchment to use? That would be the life! 

His little brain started to conjure up a scheme. 

* 

Clyra fled the scene like a beast possessed, carelessly flinging her form as far away as possible from the rose thorn bush that had held her friend, trying to flee from her problems. Her head was screaming at her to go back and apologize to Frean, go back to Salamandastron and live things out, whereas instinct forced her to run, and run hard. Clyra had never doubted her instinct. And then, it told her to run, as fast as she could. Clyra trusted it. But somehow, she knew it could not last. She was going to have to face her fears, no matter how cowardly she wanted to be. Everything was breaking apart. She needed to get somewhere to think things over. In her mind, she set herself a target. 

Redwall. 

* 

Vivre cursed savagely under her breath, earning herself a disapproving glance from Sanrow. Her language would have put a searat to shame. She knew that she would never be able to catch a solitary hare out in the expanses of Mossflower, especially as one as skilled as Clyra. A hare could flee fast, and in any direction. A Salamandastron hare could flee in any direction and survive in wherever he flew. Thinking fast, she motioned to Sanrow while scripting a fast message onto a piece of parchment and putting an official seal to it. 

'Bring me a messenger. I can only hope Clyra runs where I think she will, or else there will be no hope. I have a feeling Frean will return out of his own will sooner or later. Set a patrol out.' 

Sanrow nodded and accepted the sealed envelope, backing out of the forge. Striding swiftly over to his office, he called out the major and assigned him to send out a patrol to find Frean, and assigning the message to a messenger. He sent the hare off to Redwall. 

* 

Retinal made his way over to Rombar. The elderly squirrel smiled when he saw the young mouse come up to him, patting the grass next to him in the orchard. Retinal sat down, removing parchment and quill in the process. Rombar smiled and asked, 

'Now, what do you want, youngling?' 

Retinal looked eagerly up at the old squirrel. 

'Mister Rombar, where is the Lost Tavern?' 

'Why ever do you want to know that for?' 

'Nothing. I just want to make a map, just to see.' 

'How curious of you. I will never know for sure, though. The Lost Tavern is a very magical place. It reaches far down, right down the River Moss, down to a small slipstream just before the rapids. Then it's a few days of hard tracking. After that, it all depends on you.' 

Retinal looked up from his scripting, pushing his minute glasses up the bridge of his nose in curiosity. 

'What do you mean, mister Rombar?' 

'It depends on you, m'lad. It depends on whether you want to find it. Not just partially. Completely. With all your heart and soul. The Lost Tavern is not just some material place. It is part of you. You have to find it, or else nobeast will.' 

* 


End file.
